


Lavender Surprise

by Sugarfire (SephMichiRook)



Series: Simply Complicated [2]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Beginning of a Beautiful Friendship, Bonding, Episode 9, F/M, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Torture, episode 15, implied PTSD, iz rvb challenge, season 12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-13
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-26 04:13:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4989781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SephMichiRook/pseuds/Sugarfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They had been violently attacked, separated from half their team, conscripted into a war they wanted no part of, and discovered they were puppets in another conspiracy. </p><p>You'd think Sarge would have better things to be concerned about than what Doc Grey was up to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Purple Puzzle

**Author's Note:**

> Happens during season twelve, episode nine. Chapter Two finally completed itself for Iz's RvB Challenge on tumblr. Enjoy!

Their first encounter wasn’t exactly smooth. 

“‘Bout time, Doc,” Sarge said, as the Fed medic ran the scanner over him. “We’ve been waiting forever!” He indicated Donut, who was still holding his head gingerly. “We haven’t gotten properly looked at yet, and he took a grenade to his head again.”

“Sorry, but I’m just a medic,” the medic said. “Doctor Grey is busy with your friend.” 

“Well, then, you can at least give us something for the pain,” Sarge ordered. “Well, him. I’m feeling fine!” he all but shouted, then cringed and grabbed his ribs.

“Actually, I only have orders to confirm the diagnosis made out in the field,” the medic said, now scanning Donut. “Doctor Grey wants to personally treat each of you.”

“Why, you…” Sarge growled. The medic ignored him, nodding to himself as he walked away. “Dirt bag!” he yelled at his back. “All you Feds are dirt bags!” He suppressed a groan at the pain from his ribs. He didn’t know who this Doctor Grey was, but one of his boys was hurting, so this doctor was going to pay. A fact that he reiterated at a much quieter volume when the same medic came back to work on them. And to the guards that led them to their cell. And to Donut as he nodded off from the pain killers. 

And to the guards that wheeled Wash in later. “What did you dirt bags do to him?” Sarge demanded as they gently laid Wash down on his stomach on the other cot, making sure his helmetless head was tilted so his face wasn’t smothered in the pillow, but the implants were as high as possible. 

“Oh, just put all the pretty wires back in his head, and drained the blood off his brain,” the nurse who followed them in said in a cheery voice. She was swinging Wash’s helmet in her hand. “Locus did quite the number on him. It was touch and go, but he’s back with us now, and should be awake in a little bit.” 

Sarge glared at her, forgetting she couldn’t see him. “How do I know you people didn’t stick some sort of mind control device in there? Or a bomb, so the moment we try to escape, you can blow his head off?” 

“Escape? Why would you need to escape?” the nurse asked, clearly puzzled despite the fact that they were in a damn prison cell. She tilted her head quizzically at him “Mind control, hmm. That could be an interesting experiment…” Sarge blinked. What in the Sam Hill was she talking about? He had to suppress the sudden need to ask her how she would conduct such an experiment. In case, you know, the Blues ever turned on them again. Of course.

She suddenly shook her head. “Anyway, make sure when he wakes up that he’s alert and showing no signs of bleeding.”

“I’ve been around a few head wounds,” Sarge said. “I know the drill.” 

“Excellent!” the nurse exclaimed, suddenly getting very much in his personal space. “You must be Sarge, then. I’ve read your file, you have some very interesting credits to your name,” she said, shoving the helmet into his chest so he had to grab it. “I’ll leave him in your capable hands. Call me if he’s showing any adverse reactions.” 

“And who, little lady, am I calling?” Sarge asked, hiding the pleased feeling that someone here recognized his greatness. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot to introduce myself,” she said. “I’m Doctor Emily Grey, and I run the medical facility here. Sorry about earlier, but I was up to my wrists in Agent Washington’s head, and these medics just can’t seem to do a thing without me.” She shook her head. “Well, its always nice to be needed!” She took a bouncy step toward the door. “I hope I don’t see you until after your meeting!” she said, waving as she disappeared down the hall. 

Sarge almost followed her out, until they nearly slammed the door shut on his head. “What are you looking at, dirt bag,” he growled at his guard, who showed further respect by quickly denying he was looking at anyone and taking a spot out of arm's reach, but clearly guarding the cell. He turned and surveyed the younger men currently under his care, questions about this Doctor Grey mixing with concern for Wash and Donut, and curiosity about whatever meeting she was talking about. Followed by concerns that he was concerned with her at all. 

It took him several minutes to remember that he hadn’t made her pay for anything. 

 

********

“Just remember, you’re no good to me dead,” Doctor Grey told General Doyle. “Although, I could run experiments on your body.”

Years later, it would be what he considered the first moment Sarge knew he had found his soul mate, and that she did, in fact, have a flesh and blood body. 

In that moment, though, soul mate would have been too strong, but she was definitely a kindred spirit. At least, he thought so. Except she was a doctor. And a civilian, maybe? And part of the evil empire? And why was he thinking about this, anyway? Wash was right, none of this made any sense. 

And so Sarge stored it in the back of his head, to deal with the more pressing matters of finding his men and getting off this forsaken rock. 

Still, when the best option to do that was to stay with the Federal Army of Chorus, he only mostly didn’t like it. 

 

********

“Excuse me,” she said, the most serious Sarge had heard her so far, “if someone tells you to leave them alone, you leave them alone.” 

He didn’t know how long Doctor Grey had been standing behind Locus, which told Sarge how focused he was on NOT blowing the big sunovabich’s face off, but the fact that she confronted him, unarmed, and Locus listened? That could possibly have been the sexiest thing he had ever seen. Well, other than CeCe before Grif had messed her up. But it was definitely a solid top five, if his erection was any indication. 

“Are you a civilian, Little Lady?” he had to ask, unable to keep the admiration out of his voice. The laughter as she told them EVERYONE was either dead or in armor was morbid, and a little disturbing, if you didn’t catch the edge to it. And the fact that bullet wounds had gotten boring for a doctor made him wonder if she was a little tired. He had to agree on the prosthetic limbs, though. They were so outdated. Now, robotic limbs, that’s where the future was. He was almost so enrapt in the thought of it, he almost missed the part about-- 

“Shipping off?” he asked, concerned. Obviously, she had little concern for the why, and he couldn’t tell from her voice if it was a lack of actual interest in anything outside of what she could do, or a complete faith in her chain of command. He stared at her as she walked away, trying to figure it out. And just to watch her walk away. He was more than man enough to admit the view, limited as it was, was good. 

“So, what do you fellas think?” he asked, storing the puzzle of the doctor away for a later time. If she was right, they’d be back here again, and he could examine it more later. Right now, the new mission mattered more.

“She seems… nice?” Donut managed to nail his confusion about her on the head, but now was not the time. 

“We do what we have to do,” Wash said, sounding resigned. They went and found someone to lead them to rooms that didn’t have bars, so they could be shipped out to some other destination first thing in the morning. He was surprised to find himself roommates with Wash. As he lay awake that night, listening to Wash whimper and whisper at whatever demons haunted his dreams, he understood. So he settled in to be up most of the night, wondering what they had gotten themselves into, and where his other boys were. Despite his complaints about Grif, Sarge was worried about both him and Simmons. They need to end this war and get away from this place. That was all that mattered. Not some peppy little doctor with a spine of steel and very interesting potential experiments. 

And now he was thinking about her again. Damnit.


	2. Magenta Agreements

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've had this started for a while now, but was never happy with it. Somehow it managed to become... this. 
> 
> Submitted to Iz's RvB Challenge

“You wanted to see me, Doctor Grey?” Sarge asked as he rushed into her office. The message he had gotten had said words like ‘Urgent!’ and ‘Important!’ and ‘As Soon As You Can!’ So of course he had dropped everything -- Namely another boring status meeting since they had just returned -- and came as quickly as he could.

So he was surprised to see her sitting behind her desk, instead of wrist deep in someone.

Her head snapped up as he slid to a halt in front of the sliding door. “Why yes, I do!” she exclaimed. “Come on in.” It was hard to tell, what with the squished, small visor of the Federal Army‘s helmet, but it seemed like she was staring at him as he approached. “I’ve been reviewing your file, and I must say, there are some anomalies in the information from the other outposts.”

“Bah,” Sarge said, annoyed. “Those idiots keep saying I need to rest, something about more healing time at my age. But I’m fine.”

“Uhg. Always about age. ‘You shouldn’t be so peppy, Emily. A woman your age should be calmer.’ Like how old you are defines you or something,” Doctor Grey agreed. “Personally, I think living as long as I have in a civil war means I earned the right to be as peppy as I want. Or, in your case, be as healthy as an ox. Now, take off all your armor.”

“Exact- What was that?” Sarge asked, feeling like he had just been hit in the back of the head with a gravity hammer. “Why do I need to take off my armor?”

“So my scanner has nothing between it and you, so they can’t say the armor interfered with any of the readings,” Doctor Grey explained, pulling a scanner out from behind her desk. “Some of these images are a little hard to explain, but some of my ’colleagues’ at the other bases can’t believe they’re wrong.” The Doc shook her head. “All this negativity can’t be good for their hearts.” She looked back up at him. “Well, I haven’t got all day.”

Sarge looked around the room. “Here?” he asked. Not because he was self-conscious, but because there wasn’t any place good to put his armor.

“Yup! We’ll get this done really quick, then go have lunch. It’s peanut butter and jelly today, my favorite,” Doctor Grey said cheerfully. She gestured to his armor. “Strip, please.”

Sarge shrugged and took off his helmet. It always felt weird taking it off, but she was a medical professional, after all, so she had to know what she was talking about. Better than those numbskulls at the last three bases. He looked for a place to put it, finally settling for her desk. “All of it, or just to my waist?” he asked as the pile of red pieces began to fill her desk.

“Just the waist for now,” Doctor Grey replied, staring at him. He didn’t mind being undressed, but the way she seemed to be watching him take off his armor was a little unsettling. Or how she seemed to focus on the slight adjustments for the discomfort that had returned in his side.

“Those ribs still bugging you?” Grey asked, whipping her scanner right to the area. Sarge grimaced at the evidence he wasn’t hiding as much as he thought.

“Not still,” he explained. “They were feeling right as rain a few weeks ago, and then there was the raid two bases ago, and those cowardly Newbs blew up the Warthog I had been using for cover, and I may have bumped into a piece of rubble when I landed. Then it started being irritating again.”

“Landed?” Grey asked, switching off the scanner, and leaning back against her desk.

“Of course. I jumped up to avoid the shrapnel, and let the force of the blast carry me clear,” Sarge boasted with a confident smile.

“Well, that explains it,” she a bit too brightly. “I was wondering why two ribs hadn’t healed when the rest of you was perfect.”

“Uh…. Perfect?” Sarge asked, confused, as she switched from the scanner to the her notepad.

“Of course! You’re in perfect health for a man your age, except for the broken ribs,“ Grey said, flipping through what he assumed was his file. “I’m not seeing any notes about the fall, though. Is there a reason for that?” she asked, head tilting as she focused on his face, and he was sure he heard a eyebrow hitting her hairline.

“Bah, if I went to sickbay for every bump, bruise, or gunshot, I’d never get anything done,” Sarge said dismissively. “Besides, that moron wanted to put me on scheduling when I got there instead of field training. I wasn’t going to give him an actual, real reason to bench me.”

“Now, now,” Grey said, pushing herself up as she set down the notepad and rested her hands back on her desk. “You may be in great shape, but if you keep up ignoring injuries like that, and I’ll have to bench you myself.”

“No offense, Little Lady,” Sarge said, looming as well as he could, “but better men than you have tried, and failed.”

“Well, I’m not a man, and I haven’t tried yet,” Grey said in a sweet voice, and even he wasn’t oblivious enough to miss the warning tone underneath it. In fact, it almost sounded like she had snorted in the same breath. And even with the ridiculously small visor, he would have bet his shotgun she was staring right into his eyes.

He looked away first. “Well, it’s silly to discuss, anyway. You just said I was perfectly fine.”

“I said you were in perfect health for a man your age,” Grey corrected him. “Actually, you’re in perfect health for a man half your age. But you’re not a man half your age, you’re a man your age, and while that is perfect, it does mean you don’t get to just ignore shooting, persistent pain anymore.”

“Well, if the doctors on this planet would just fix the problem and let me go back to work, instead of harping on about my age, maybe I’d be more willing to waste my time reporting every persistent pain I get!” he growled, eyes snapping back to her visor. He thought he heard an answering growl as Grey moved.

“And are you experiencing any more pains, Sarge?” Grey asked, popping back up to standing and grabbing the scanner back up.

“I’m starting to,” Sarge grumbled, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. Doctor Grey carefully set the scanner down and stepped closer to him, head tilted again, but didn’t say anything. She was too close. He didn’t know what she was looking for, but he didn’t like it. At least, he thought he didn’t. So he began looking anywhere but at her, the hand at the back of his neck squeezing, trying to relieve the tension bunching there. A picture on her wall shelf next to some book about robotic limbs caught his attention.

“Okay, so that’s a no,“ she said. “At least, no new valid pains.” He looked quickly back at that damn visor, feeling somewhat outmatched. Unable to deny it, and unable to admit it, he simply growled. And once again, the growl seemed to find an echo.

“Did you know, we’ve been fighting this war for years? Like, almost a decade?” Grey suddenly changed subjects. “A few years ago, someone who is too dead now to finish his work realized that when some of the people who had spent years wearing these helmets lost any control over their facial expressions. The longer you’ve been wearing it, the more that shows when it’s off.” She stepped closer, and she was way too far into his personal space, her fingers walking up his exposed side to the area the cracks were in his ribs, and Sarge was embarrassed to hear his own intake of breath. “And you’ve been that armor for a very long time.”

“So, you’re saying you can tell what I’m thinking by my face?” Sarge asked, and mentally cursed for being so damn obvious. “Go right ahead, I’m an open book. Read away.” He began glancing around the room, then at her, then back at the picture. “Out of curiosity, what does that have to do with my ribs, exactly?” Sarge asked. The subject of the photo had obviously had extensive work done, but why would anyone take the time to do it?

“Just pointing out that pain isn't good,” Grey shrugged. “I have to ask, what are you thinking so hard about?"

Sarge gave another wordless growl, trying to figure out what was wrong was that statement. The answering growl was louder this time, and he began looking for the source in earnest. “Just trying to keep up, what with the ribs and the lecture about being old, and the face reading and such.”

“I’m not lecturing you about your age, silly,” she said with a smile in her voice. “I’m saying, you have enough experience to know better than to blow off injuries. Especially injuries that could have you up on my table.”

“Oh, well then,” Sarge said absently, “And what if I want to end up on your table? You seem to have done a good job patching up Wash.” 

Sarge jumped, when her fingers came up under the hand still on his neck, and he realized just how not focused on her he was. “I could start with that crick in your neck,” she suggested suggestively, and that just wasn’t fair at all, because damn, she had already found the knot and was already using expert fingers to unravel it. There was a scratchy, clicking noise from behind her desk, causing both of them to stop.

“You know, I’ll keep it in mind,” Sarge said quickly, stepping back slightly as he felt himself frown. He was pretty sure what was back there now, and curiosity and self-preservation were warring inside his mind.

“Wonderful!” Grey said, quickly turning and getting back behind her desk. “So, I’ll want to check on those ribs every couple of days, just to make sure they are healing. Don’t overdo it, and be careful around explosions.”

“Uh-huh,” Sarge acknowledged, his underarmor already pulled up. He started circling her desk slowly, curiosity winning out in a huge way.

“Sarge, what are- WAIT!” Grey commanded, but it was too late. Another growl was followed by a deep, loud woof as the cybernetically repaired Saint Bernard bum-rushed him. “Borgy, NO!” Sarge had actually been expecting it, and was able to dodge and turn, so his back was to the shelf, and his eyes on the protective dog as Grey grabbed the collar.

“Hey there,” he said slowly, “Borgy.” His eyes darted to her visor for a second. “Seriously? Who names a beautiful beast like this ‘Borgy?”

“Have you ever seen Star-”

“Nope.”

“Never mind then.” Grey was running a calming hand down the brown and white head. “Sorry, she’s a bit shy.”

“Hard to imagine,” Sarge stated, willing himself to relax. “One of your experiments?”

She nodded rapidly. “Borgy here was helping find survivors in a bombed building, when an IED went off near her and her handler. I couldn’t help him, but I had to try to save Borgy. She’s a real hero of the early war. And the reason I got to be my age.”

Borgy’s entire lower jaw and right side of her face, front paw, and most of her neck seemed to be made of metal, right down her ribs, before almost begrudgingly turning back into flesh. Her noise was still big and wet, and somehow, she appeared to still have her fleshy tongue, which was now hanging out of her mouth as she panted. Sarge took off his glove, and held his hand out. Borgy did the same head tilt her master did, before sniffing him. She looked back at Doctor Grey, who made an encouraging noise. She then proceeded to knock Sarge onto his ass, sniffing him enthusiastically. Grey giggled as Sarge sputtered. He really couldn’t blame her. If it was anyone else, he’s probably be laughing his butt off.

Grey finally called the dog off when her exploration knocked into his ribs, causing him to flinch. “Okay, Borgy, enough,” the doctor said. The Saint Cybornard lumbered off him and flopped back down in the huge dog bed behind Grey’s desk.

Sarge chuckled, pushing himself off the floor. “She’s quite the charmer,” he said. “Kinda like her mistress.”

“Flattery won’t get you out of treatment. And I know how hard her chin is, so don't deny you're in pain,” Grey said cheerfully. “I need the suit back off.”

“Why do I feel like we’ve had this conversation before,” Sarge asked. “You said I could go.”

“Indeed I did,” Grey agreed cheerfully as she reached into another desk drawer and pulled out a foil pack. “That was before Borgy knocked your ribs.”

Sarge sighed and took off everything on the left side. “Fine, but I’m not wasting time taking off everything again.” He obediently pulled his arm back out gingerly, exposing the offending body parts.

“Pity,” Grey replied, expertly ripping open the compression bandage, and gently applying it. Sarge jumped when it touched his skin, the ice-heat compound in it very shocking. “Sorry,” she said, and he swore she let her fingers linger on sealing the edges.

“It's alright,” he said tightly, because damn, the woman had great technique. She nodded as she stepped back, and he took it as a sign, throwing his armor on with expert speed. “Well, then, if I’m good, I’m going to hit the mess.” He relaxed as he heard the seal on his helmet hissed closed. He paused at the door. “Maybe sometime we can discuss Borgy’s operation sometime.”

“Are you doing anything for lunch?” she asked.

“Well, not really,” he said.

“Want to bring our trays back here?” she asked. “To discuss Borgy.”

Sarge chuckled and held out his right arm. “Sounds good to me, Little Lady.”

She hurried to hook her hand into the crook of his elbow. “Perfect.”


	3. Marooned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarge finds a chance to show off for Grey. Oh, and torture erection. Because you know he had one.

“Quit squirming,” Sarge told Simmons. Not ordered anymore. Simmons was a captain now. So was Grif, Tucker, and Caboose. No wonder the Newb Republic was losing. Oh, and those lying mercenaries, Sarge had to remember that. Habits were hard to break. 

“Sorry, but the table‘s kind of cold," Simmons said. He was currently stripped down to his hips, lying on an exam table. Sarge had confiscated his calibration monitor the minute he saw it out. Simmons had been trying to avoid a full calibration, but now his armor was in a pile, with his and Sarge’s helmets."I can do this myself.” 

“Of course you can, Simmons, but it goes faster if I do it,” Sarge said. “If you don’t squirm, of course.” 

Simmons sighed. “This is all Grif’s fault.” And literally, too. The orange captain had elbowed him in the midriff during a struggle with Carolina to get his laser rifle back. His digestive system had been giving him trouble ever since.

“Of course it is! So when this is done, go bitch to him,” Sarge said. He was interrupted by the door sliding open, and Doctor Grey walking in. Simmons squeaked and closed his eyes, so he didn’t see Wash stop behind her. Sarge hid a smile. This was a perfect opportunity to show off his handiwork. Well, what was left of it. He looked at the surgically repaired scars on Simmons, who had gotten them worked on before he had been assigned to Rat Trap years ago. Damn shame.

“What’s going on in here?” Grey asked, coming further into the room. “Is that a Carna 375-B Remote Calibration Monitor?” she asked.

“Actually, it’s a 425,” Sarge said. “It’s what we use to calibrate Simmons here. It sends a secure wifi signal to the receivers on his cybernetic organs.” He shook his head sadly. “It’s a damn shame. Takes the personal touch right out of this.”

“I think it’s just fine,” Simmons said, voice breaking.

“You would, you big baby,” Sarge said. “No cutting now to actually see what’s what. Just pops up on the screen. It’s just not right.”

“Oooo, I didn’t know they had made it past testing yet,” Emily said. “Mind if I observe?”

“Yes,” Simmons squeaked, his eyes somehow getting squeezed tighter shut, like it would stop her from seeing him.

“Nonsense! Simmons, where are your manners? The lady just wants to look,” Sarge said, a little eager to show off his work. He looked up at Emily. “If you’re going to stay, you need to take off your helmet. Something about them can scramble the signal bad, and that’s never good.”

“Don’t I get a say in this?” Simmons whined, his hands balling into fists.

“No,” Sarge said. 

“Why, thank you, Sarge,” Emily said as she removed her helmet. “Don’t worry, Simmons, I don’t bite. Well, only when I have a reason, but I shouldn’t for this.” She caught Sarge staring at her. “Unless you want to give me a reason?” she said with a smile and a wink.

Simmons squawked and started stuttering in earnest. Sarge didn’t hear a damn word of it. It was the first time he had seen her sans any piece of armor, and he was caught flat-footed. Her energy belied her real, more mature age, and those lavender eyes stood out against her light amber skin marked only by laugh lines in all the right places. She had a, well, he hated to be caught using any form of cute, but that was the only word he could come up with for her small, straight nose. And she had a little bit too large mouth with a bottom lip that wouldn’t quit. But it was her hair that had him surprisingly captivated. He hadn’t seen a lot of people sans helmet in the last few decades, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t supposed to be that shiny, or have big curls that seemed to swing. He wanted to reach out and pull one of those short burnt umber curls straight to see if it bounced back into place. 

“Uh, no need for teeth right now,” Sarge managed to choke out, a blush of his own starting to stain his cheeks. As her smile got bigger and brighter, he thought he may well and truly be sunk. Looking around furiously for anything else to focus on, he noticed Wash for the first time standing in the door, staring at the three of them. “Again, if your staying, you need to lose the helmet,” he said to the blue, putting a little bit of umph into his voice. He was surprised, not when Wash left, but the fact that he didn’t have some sort of caustic one-liner prepped as he backed out. 

“So, where do you start?” Doctor Grey asked. “The hand?” She lifted Simmons left hand up, as if Sarge wouldn’t know what he was talking about.

“No, that he calibrates manually,” Sarge said. “I used to help, but after he refused to let me upgrade it, I just let him do it.” 

She raised an eyebrow. “Really? That’s a shame, because I know that eye implant is new…” The two continued to talk shop as they moved the monitor over Simmons, who very gradually began to relax, even if he never opened his eyes. Not that either of them was paying attention to the cyborg’s emotional state. Other than to tell him to calm down, he was messing up the readings.

It took almost half an hour, but they finally fixed the damage Grif’s elbow had done. She looked at the scars on his chest, noting it was amazing both Grif and Simmons hadn’t died as she ran a finger over one, surprised at the smoothness.

“And you did all this with only internet instructions and a beef cut chart?” Emily said admiringly. “You have to be a genius. Such a shame you didn’t go into medicine. Although, if you had, these two wouldn’t still be alive. And probably a lot of your men.” 

“Why, thank you, Darlin’,” he said, preening just a little. “But I was always meant for the battlefield. Books just don’t give the same thrill, and quite frankly, official labs and hospitals are just a little too regulated to allow for such innovation.” 

“True. I guess I’m lucky that I run my own facility, then,” she said, laughing. “Say, would you be interested in trying to install a complete cybernetic arm?”

He blinked. “Of course. But I don’t think we have the equipment to do it here,” he said slowly. 

“I hate to interrupt, but can I go now?” Simmons asked a little plaintively.

“Oh, right,” Sarge said, having completely forgotten his second in command was still there. He pressed a few buttons, and a series of beeps came from Simmons. “Be back here in one hour.” He turned back to Emily. “Need to make sure moving around doesn’t knock him back out of calibration.” 

“I see,” Emily said. Simmons didn’t even bother with the armor, but pulled his kevlar undersuit up, sealed the back, and practically ran from the room. “So, all of his organs ended up in Grif?” she asked, picking up her helmet.

“Yup, and his hand,” Sarge said. “He thinks he has Simmons’ ba- er, testicles, too, but he’d know that wasn’t the case if he wasn’t so fat.” He blushed again, but did not want her looking down there. Quickly, he put his helmet on, and she followed suit.

“Oh, that’s okay,” she said dismissively. “I’m much more interested in his hand. They are different sizes, right?” 

Sarge chuckled. “Right. And different colors, too. It’s pretty silly looking, but he managed to get used to it.”

“I’d love to take a look,” Grey said slyly.

“I think I can arrange that,” Sarge said. He gestured at the door. “After you.” 

“Lead the way.” She grabbed his arm instead. “Now, about that cybernetic arm…”

 

********

“Sarge, I’m scared,” Simmons said, a quiver in his voice.

“Simmons, we all are,” Sarge said, listening to Emily sing “Carmen” while the pirate screamed. “Wait, except for me.” But he was scared. Terrified, in fact. Because the throbbing erection had been instantaneous, and he was sure that it was the most beautiful music he had ever heard. 

He was sunk. Completely. Utterly. Totally sunk. 


End file.
